Crime Scene: Do Not Cross

She protected it with plastic and paper,

Hid her fortress beneath translucent mountains.

She wanted to make sure no one would touch it while she was gone.

She set up a barrier,

Folded paper for signs.

"Do not touch"

"Donot touch"

(No, that was not a typo.)

She hoped it would be enough protection, enough to keep others away.

It seemed almost silly to me.

Obviously, her incredibly fallible attempt at protection would only encourage others to do the exact opposite of what was directed.

I could just picture the littlest one standing beside her mountain, one finger extended moving slowly forward until . . .

"Touch."

Then the poking, stabbing, denting of the mountain's surface.

"Touch."

"Touch."

"Touch."

Of course, while I sat thinking of how silly her so-called "protection" was, I realized that I do the same thing.

Not with toys, but with myself.

All of the hurts, all of my mistakes, all of my epic failures . . .

I bury.

I bury them much as this one buried her castle beneath thin sheets of plastic.

I put up caution tape much as she put up flimsy paper signs.

It's my life
And I'm gonna bury my secrets,
Bury them deep down inside.

It's my life
And I'm gonna bury my secrets,
Bury my secrets and hide.

Don't understand
Why things
Keep happening to me,
But I don't plan
On seeing
Just how much I can bleed.


It's my life
And I'm gonna bury my secrets,
Bury my secrets and hide.

I try to handle my messes on my own.

I try to bandage my own wounds, heal them myself.

I try to hide the pieces of my heart that are all wrapped up in gauze because I don't want anyone to see how much I've been hurt.

We've all been hurt,

In one way or another.

Still, everything around us seems to push us into burying that hurt.

Everything around us seems to tell us not to speak of it (except maybe to a counselor or a trusted friend), not to show it (except maybe to those we trust implicitly).

We try to bury our hurt,

Bury our secrets.

The problem is, at least in my experience,

SomeOne doesn't want them to stay buried.

Will You stop digging away all these layers of dirt?
All I want is to forget all about this hurt.
You clear it away and say, "Come out to me."
You clear it away and say, "Come and be free."

Why do I try to do this by myself?

Why do I think I can heal my own hurts?

Why do I think I can set myself free?

I should know by now that I can't.

There is absolutely no way I can heal myself.

There is absolutely no way I can free myself.

 
It's my life
And I've tried to bury my secrets,
Bury them deep down inside.

It's my life
And I've tried to bury my secrets,
Bury my secrets and hide.

Don't understand
Why You
Came looking for me here
When my plan
Was to
Let all this disappear.


It's my life,
I wanted to bury my secrets.

What makes me think that I can make all of my hurt go away?

What makes me think that if I leave it alone, it will somehow disappear?

Who told me this?

Where did I learn it from?

Why does it outweigh the boatload of other things I know that tell me this is not true?

Somehow, in spite of all of my efforts, He still knows how to get to me, how to show me that He is the only One who can truly heal:

You cut through my yellow tape that said "Crime Scene:  Do Not Cross".
You dug up all of the hurt that I thought I'd lost.
You held out Your hand and said, "Come out to me."
You held out Your hand and said, "Come and be free."

I had covered it all with a layer of dirt just thick enough that I thought no one could see.

I had roped off the crime scene - I had roped off the area surrounding the crime scene -

I had put up miles of yellow tape:

Crime Scene:  Do Not Cross.

Fortunately for me, none of it really worked.

He came through anyway.

He brought the healing I had missed.

I try so hard to bury the hurt and heal it myself because I think it will help, because everything around me seems to be telling me it will help.

Really, doing this is like holding the wound open - so it can't heal.

Worse, I'm holding the wound open and hiding it - so no one will see, so no one will help,

But SomeOne can see, and He did whatever it took to make me whole again.

Yes, it hurt -

A lot -

But I'm healed

And I know He did it because He loves me . . .

More than I can even imagine.

With realization came transformation.

Why did I think this life was about me?

Why did I think I could do whatever I wanted with it?

Why did I think I was in control?

It's not mine. 

It's Your life
And I'm gonna give You my secrets,
Give You my secrets and cry.

It's Your life
And I'm gonna give You my secrets,
Give You my secrets and fly. 

This is what sets me free,

Giving it all over to the One with the power to heal.

It's not my life.

It's not up to me.

I don't have to hide anymore.

I can give it all over to You, let You lead me.

You will set me free.

It might hurt,

But it will be well worth it,

Because, when it's over, I will be whole again - 

And I will be one step closer to the person you want me to be.

I surrender.

My life is not my own.

It's Your life.

 

The italicized, bolded words are lyrics to the song "Secrets", which I wrote after hearing a sermon about how Jesus called Lazarus out of the tomb.  The sermon caused me to relate this to my own experience of "burying" my hurt and then having Him come and dig it all up again - not to hurt me, to heal me.  Please remember that this song is copyrighted - ©2011 Mary Schieferstein

The words "It's not up to me." are intended to allude to the line ". . . realizing that it's not up to you/And it never was." from the song "Remember Surrender", written and preformed by Sara Groves.  The words "I don't have to hide anymore." refer to the Joy Williams song "Hide".  The words "It might hurt" link to the song "Blessings", written and preformed by Laura Story, because I truly believe that sometimes "healing comes through tears".  Many thanks to these people for their incredible music.